The Man of Zaibach
by Knight.of.The.North
Summary: The Destiny War has ended. Zaibach has been cut up amongst the Victors; it's peoples scattered. But one broken man finds himself in Fanelia. And not just any man...
1. Chapter 1

It was a barren room. A room barren of all sensibility and faith. The Destiny War had come to it's bloody conclusion. The only Officer who could be dug up from the shattered remnants of the Zaibach Army was the man sitting on one side of the decadent table. He was bloody, scarred and tired. He'd barely had a day's sleep after weeks arduous fighting. Dressed in a simple grey tunic and leggings, with worn boots, he was not a pleasant man to look upon. A once handsome face drawn taut and splayed by glares and grimaces; with thick blonde eyebrows and a ruggedly short beard. A crown of inch-long honey-blonde hair crowned his broad face. This man was neither handsome nor ugly, but tired. Despite the incredible weight of responsibility he'd had thrown onto his shoulders, he held himself upright in his chair, hands cupped atop the table, even as his nation's rapists took their seats. First was Queen Milerna of Asturia. A beautiful woman, kind and soft, with sleek features and dazzling blonde hair, dressed spectacularly in Asturian Royal Robes. She was Zaibach's greatest chance of coming out of this with their dignity. Then, they came _the others. _Van Fanel, the once-bloodthirsty King of Fanelia, eager to exact revenge for the destruction of his Kingdom; or to end the War as quickly as possible...It was a mystery. Alongside him, Duke Chid of Freid. A young boy, indeed, but no less vengeful for that. He had been flown to Zaibach by Leviship.

A consortium of the other nations were represented by suitably mediocre men. They would follow the leadership of Asturia, Fanelia and Freid, as the main sufferers of the War.

The Zaibach Officer resisted the temptation to flinch, hesitate; to beg, plead. His name was Colonel Darl Fomfostradt. And he was the highest ranking soldier in Zaibach.

"Let negotiations begin. Zaibach surrenders unconditionally." The words stung his lips as they echoed forth. He'd fought so long...So hard. Now this. Dornkirk was dead. The Generals had all deserted. What was to happen? Colonel Fomfostradt was not a distinguished Officer, nor a great man. He did his duty to the letter; he was just lucky he hadn't cost him his life. He was the wrong man, in the wrong job; in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But he'd be damned before he cowered from this position.

Van Fanel rose to his feet, slamming his hands upon the table.

"I demand men and supplies for rebuilding my homeland."

"Done." That was expected; but it wouldn't be the end of it.

"Freid and Asturia also require recompense for the harm done in the war." The other nations wouldn't speak they had no-

"As do all the other nations involved in the war."

Darl's face visibly tightened, something almost impossible beforehand.

"That is unjust; we understand Fane-"

A hiss from that draconic runt, and he was snarling.

"Unconditional surrender, Zaibach."

Darl twitched his jaw angrily, before nodding his ascent. The harsh truth was, he had no choice. Zaibach's City had already been ransacked and torn down in preparation for this; the entire land was to be gutted and returned to how it had been before Dornkirk. A wasteland, with enemies constantly sniping at it.

"Damn you bastards." It was a shock, for this man who parleyed with them seemed remote, distant. Aloof. Superior. The growl from the Colonel's lips was twice as ferocious for it. "You can try to reduce my nation to the shithole it was before. You'll succeed. But we'll come back. You bury us, we'll crawl up through the dirt and make you pay. You can try and beat us to death, but you'll fail." It was said quietly and forcefully. in turn glaring at every last person in the room. And only then did he notice how he'd turned them all from angry and forceful, to timid and frightened. Except Van Fanel, of course. But, it seemed, he gave up, standing and leaving in a flourish.

It was all downhill from there. The moment he left, the jackals moved in. With Fanelia gone, Fomfostradt realised they could take their pieces of Zaibach, ripping apart the corpse

"Caesaron demands full reparations for all damages!"

"Baal wishes all expenses paid for development of the weapon

All Zaibach Guymelefs were ordered destroyed. The Zaibach Army disbanded. The entire country divided up amongst the petty nations.

Fomfostradt watched his nation torn apart. He was no longer a Colonel.

_Some men are born great_

_Others take History with fire and steel._

********

Fomfostradt had to say one thing; it was ironic. Of all the nations he could have wandered into, he found himself hammering nails in Fanelia. A more out of place man there was not, but his movements were whimsical and quick, never taking too long. And the glares. The glares. Van Fanel had ordered that all were welcome in Fanelia, but he couldn't stop the glares. Dropping down from the scorched roof, into a narrow alley, Darl found his waterskin once again stolen. But this time, the light from either end of the alley was blocked. Men. Big burly men, survivors of the destruction of Fanelia. About 2 on either side. Their hair was cut raggedly, their beards thick. Darl still wore his black tunic and trousers, simply because he had nothing else to wear.

From each side, they closed in, muttering threats and insults as they did. Chunks of wood acted as weapons. But Fomfostradt was a soldier born. The first came at him, and a ferociously quick backhand sent him unconscious against the wall. Second, thrown hard over the soldier's shoulder onto the cobbles. Third, asphyxiated as the fourth was kicked into unconsciousness.

More came. Darl would have died there and then...

If a beast girl had dropped from the roofs.

"HEY! Get back! You know Lord Van doesn't like you beating up random people."

Darl sneered as the Fanelians dragged their fallen comrades out of the alley. His wolf-like eyes fell upon the beast girl. Dipping his head in respect, though keeping eye-contact, he went to go past her.

"I save your life, and you don't even say thanks?!" Her arms were crossed in stubborn affront.

Darl breathed, nodding.

"Thank you."

The first words he'd spoken since he'd been stripped of his post, since he'd seen his country torn to shreds.

Her honour satisfied, Merle plonked herself down on a box of haversacks and motioned for Darl to stay.

"Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Killing Asturians." An awkward silence. Darl was too stupid to lie.

"Anyway, I'm Merle. And you're trouble. Zaibach, right?"

Darl nodded; she wasn't the first to make that assumption.

"Yeah, you should hear what they say about you out there. They really hate you." Her eyes were wide with bemusement at this lean man, who seemed hesitant to even speak.

"They have every right to. I was a Colonel, and we were sent here to make sure Van Fanel didn't return. Then Lord Folken sent us away." He shrugged, scratching his beard.

"You were a Colonel? That's like a Samurai, right?" She was somehow warming to this man, resisting the urge to be coy or snarky. He had that look in his eyes; as if he wanted to throw himself from the balcony.

Darl chuckled, scratching his eyebrow.

"Close enough. I commanded men..." He refused to think of that great battle, where he'd seen his men murdered one by one by their own aggression...Then...The Light...

Don't think about it.

"They're gone now." A tear appeared briefly, before a blink stole it away.

Merle took pity on him.

"Come on, let's get you some water. I'm sure Van will want to meet you." It was obvious he was tired, thirsty and hungry. The shadows under his eyes. The dry, peeling lips. That distant gaze. Darl found himself following her through the streets. He loved Fanelia, in his own way. Workmen buzzed about, with hammers, nails, and wooden boards. Stonemasons carved fine, artistic blocks. The sun shone upon the revival of this beautiful Kingdom of Dragons. Darl wished he would one day see Zaibach like this. But it could never happen; the Army was scattered to the four corners, it's people rundown and beaten..It could never happen.

After a few minutes walk, they came to a crossroads, being used as a square. Until then, Darl had ignored the glares and fierce looks, but at that moment, it seemed they were all pinned on him. Hence why he had stuck to the alleyways, stealing nails, boards and a hammer to rebuild. Stealing food in the dead of night.

But Merle simply glared right back at them, daring them to confront or insult her new friend. Wisely, they moved on. Setting down around a pot of steaming meat stew, Darl found his stomach grumbling.

"We'll get you fed, then take you to see Lord Van. He's been wanting to see all the warriors. And we can get you some new clothes; you stink." Holding her nose in a comical fashion did not soften the blow, but did bring a smirk to Darl's face

Bollocks, Darl thought. Well, the King would spot him eventually; if it had to be now, the Zaibach wasn't up for arguing with fate.

He found a bowl thrust into his hand, and stew poured into it, which quickly found it's way down his gullet. Then up again, as he realised it was very, very hot.

A clap on the back, the first show of affection from a human he'd received.

"Yes, my Zaibach friend; it's very hot!" A massive, grinning man.

He took a spoon, eating, blowing on the stew before consuming it. Merle was more set on her own, but kept her keen eyes on the crowd. You never knew.


	2. Chapter 2

Darl was a good man, somewhere deep down. He knew that. His Wife had said he was; his son had. His little daughters thought him a Hero. A long time ago. Long time ago...

Here he was, consuming venison stew like some rank monster, tipping it down his throat with the spoon, it only recently becoming cool enough to consume. Seconds later, it was gone, it's contents licked out and the bowl and spoon set down neatly. He nodded his thanks at the cook; but he was still hungry.

Merle kept looking at him. He wasn't like the Zaibach Soldiers she'd seen. They tended to be dark-haired and zealous, boisterous and crazy. This man looked defeated, with his ragged blonde hair and scruffy beard. Like a Wolf beaten into the ground; again and again.

"Hey, what's your name, anyway?"

"Darl." Fomfostradt was a name he rarely used; it was too proud and exotic. The name of a different name.

"I'm Merle." Her paw-like hand shot out, and it was dwarfed by Darl's strained, broad hand. "You were really hungry. How long since you've eaten?" He snorted in response, rubbing his palms together with great thought.

"3 night, 2 days and this morning." Merle's eyes opened in shock; every Fanelian got a meal everyday, and he was a Samurai barely getting a meal a week? That was an outrage. Merle shivered at the thought of Van going through something similar to this man.

"Come on, let's get you to Lord Van." He shivered, visibly, before rising from the stool. Why was he so reluctant to meet Lord Van? He'd probably heard the tales of how Escaflowne had massacred the Dragonslayers, with crazed efficiency.

But it didn't seem like that. There wasn't an ounce of fear on his face; just resignation. Like the traitors of Asturia who'd been hanged after the War. They trawled quickly through the streets; this part of the city was really loud and crowded, as everyone worked to rebuild each part of the City. Lord Van was always up at the Palace, with Hitomi, working on organising everything.

It was a short work up stairs from the streets to the Palace Courtyard. A table that was awfully familiar to Darl was covered in papers, inkwells, and had an awfully familiar young man standing over it, with dark hair, a red tunic and white trousers. Merle waved, shouted, but Darl had stopped. Van was staring at him; a semblance of the anger he'd had in the war pinned on the Soldier. To his credit, he didn't flinch.

"Merle! Get back, that's a Zaibach soldier!" Sword drawn, Van was running. Until, of course, Merle hissed and shot up her hackles.

"The war isn't on anymore, you big meanie!" She gave him a harsh shove, to both Darl and Van's shock.

"He was the Leader of Zaibach after Dornkirk's death." Van proclaimed, prompting some armed men to begin to gather.

"So? Zaibach doesn't exist anymore." Merle was vehemous in defending her new found friend, but Darl showed the first bit of backbone.

"As I recall, _Fanelia_, it was your leaving that unleashed the hounds upon my Country." It was said through gritted teeth, and the guards touched hands to weapons.

Merle, unexpectedly, pushed him.

"Shut up." The ferocious little beast girl was making her point, and would not be interrupted.

"This guy, Darl, he's a Samurai who's been hiding in the streets helping rebuild Fanelia, with barely any food and having to sleep in alleyways! You can go through them all; you won't find a window without a curtain or a roof with a hole in. He deserves a little respect!" There was a new look upon her face, pinned directly at Lord Van; a rare case of her berating him. The look that said 'You should be ashamed of yourself'.

In response, Van softened, speaking in a light tone of warmth. He sighed, and nodded.

"Alright. If Merle will vouch for you, I can't argue. Just tell me...Did you support burning Fanelia to the ground?" The Dragon's eyes fell upon the Wolf's, and it was obvious to all that Darl would not lie.

"The Destruction of Fanelia was an idiot's decision. I was General Adelphus' Chief of Staff at the time. When Folken informed General Adelphus and I of his plans, we immediately refused to divert troops, unless we received written permission from Emperor Dornkirk." Darl spoke with concise and

"But Dornkirk couldn't write at that point"

"Exactly. So he used Dilandau. The rest..." Darl kicked a cinder away from his food "is history."

Satisfied with his answer, Van nodded.

"I can offer you a place to sleep, and regular meals...And if you can beat me in combat, you can become my Captain." He grinned a benevolent grin; noone beat Lord Van. If he could hold his own for awhile, he'd be offered a position as a Soldier.

They moved to an empty area of the Courtyard; Darl was handed a decent sword. It wasn't like his own, though that had been personally made for him. But it would do. Van nimbly unsheathed the Sword of the House of Fanel. It was at this point that Hitomi emerged from the Palace, holding numerous burnt clothes. Van liked showing off to her. She shook her head, a smile on her face.

Darl attacked, ferociously, barging into the smaller Van with his shoulder as he was distracted. The blade flashed, narrowly avoiding severing Van's arm. In response, the Prince drew back and clashed his sword against the Zaibach's. Without thinking, Darl countered with an underhanded blow; as his right arm held the sword, his left struck a blow to Van's right shoulder with the heel of his hand. Off balance, Darl's foot hooked Van's leg and threw him onto his back. But the Fanelian was not done yet. His sword came up, slashing at Darl's sword hand. The weapon fell from the Soldier's hand, and many assumed it was over.

And it was. As Van rolled to his feet, Darl was there, inside his guard. A knee to the groin and 3 lightning quick punches to the face stunned him, and caused a broken nose. Gripping the sword wrist of the Fanelian Prince, Darl applied pressure to the nerve ending under his thumb; the sword clattered to the ground, and a ferocious headbutt sent King Van into unconsciousness.

Easily 10 swords appeared at Darl's throat.

"HEY! He beat Lord Van! He's your CAPTAIN!" Merle's voice was thick with outrage, and her face covered in triumph. But the Guards did not bear looks of anger. But astonishment. Lord Van had indeed beaten this man with the sword. But his fists had beaten their King into the ground with such efficiency, it defied belief.

Hitomi was already at Van's side, slapping gently at his cheek. She'd come just for a quick visit of a few hours. Occasionally, her sparkling eyes glared up at Darl. Blood was pouring from Van's nose.

The Soldier's voice echoed over the awkward silence.

"Hold his head forward and get some cold water. If his blood is thin, he may die, so do it quickly."

They did not move. A semblance of Colonel Fomfostradt returned as his eyes opened wide and he leaned against the blades.

"**NOW!"**

Then 9 men were gone, with one outstretched blade at Darl's throat.

A few hours later, Van lay in the badly repaired Palace chambers, Hitomi at his side, blankets over him and a cool cloth on his nose. Darl knelt at his feet.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" The King asked, his eyes burning with a mix of embarrassment and respect.

"Killing Asturians."

"Asturians don't fight like that."

Darl nodded, cracking his neck riggidly.

"No. But you fight like an Asturian. Allen Schezar trained you?"

Van's eyes now took with recognition, and he nodded. It was close enough.

"Thought so. You're too good not to be. Well, I don't fight by rules. In the trenches, it's not about honour, it's about getting out alive. I've killed 3 Knights of Caeli in my time; 2 with my bare hands, 1 in my Guymelef. Have you ever heard of Tunram?" Darl started to rub his hands together as he looked up at the badly-repaired roof.

"No, I haven't." But it seemed irrelevant.

"Didn't think so. Anyway, I'll take my leave." He went to turn around, but crossed spears blocked his path.

"Your first duty is to get some decent weapons and armour. Captain."


	3. The Wolf and The Dragon

Is it not a man's duty to accept any and all challenges which fall at his feet? When a man finds himself in a foreign land, with little possession other then the clothe's upon his back, he comes to a fateful crossroads. He can allow himself to be eroded; ground into the dirt, destroyed, forgotten and hated. To give up on his life and to allow the people who drove him to such dire straits to continue on with their lives, unabated. This is, by all degrees of logic, foolish. When you have given in, you cannot go back. Giving up removes all options. So it'd make sense if a man always chose not to give up? No. For we humans are fickle creatures. We listen to our emotions, and the voices of others, instead of our own. To fight when one is broken is true bravery. Much as a toothless Lion dying to defend it's cubs prompts a tear, a man dying in an attempt to claw back some semblance of humanity prompts a cheer.

Hitomi looked at the man now. He was attired in simple armour; a once-ornate breastplate, gauntlets and greaves. Except, the breastplate had had it's decorations filed harshly away, leaving a blank sheet of steel. At his side, a sword of curved steel sat proudly, but needlessly. But it was his face that Hitomi stared at. Tired and shallow, but fierce. A broad nose and large brutal eyes, but a thin mouth. Before him, over 200 warriors knelt in the armour of Fanelian Samurai. All looked grudgingly down at the ground.

"I assume all are present?" His voice was that of hate, disgust, and anger. The Samurai kept their heads bowed.

"You're not used to me. Good. Means I can do whatever the hell I like. There are 200 Samurai Warriors, with no functional Guymelefs, correct?" His eyes darted amongst the Samurai, like a vulture leaping from carcass to carcass.

"Well, that'll be different soon. Until then; follow me." With that, he began jogging, towards the ruins; the ones that weren't being rebuilt. The Samurai looked at each other, looks of bemusement and anger, before following, most having to sprint to catch up with Darl's brisk pace.

Van appeared at her side in the doorway, placing his hand lightly over her's.

She turned, that look in her eyes.

"You chose a-"

Van stopped her with a glare. Damnit, of course he knew! How could he not? He'd seen that look, that confidence, that readiness. He knew.

"He's a good man, Hitomi." Van reassured her, squeezing her hand tightly.

"I know, but...I'm still so worried."

"Don't worry. With him at my side, what could happen to me?"

Very little, as far as Darl was concerned. He'd been going over the security proceedures that Van had instituted; they were pathetic. There were never more then 10 men without 100 metres of the King at anytime. And as soon as this little run was over, he was going to implement some changes. First, 50 men would be beside the Lord at all times, the remaining 150 patrolling and helping rebuild Fanelia. Doubtless the King would protest, but Darl was very persuasive. Well, just stubborn. Rock stubborn. He remembered The Battle of Freid; where his unit ploughed through the South with dagger-like precision. General Adelphus had been proud...

But he was Fanelian now, wasn't he?...

Don't think of it. That will not help in the slightest. Allowing himself a look over his shoulder, he found the Samurai already tiring. 15 minutes and tiring? Darl could have sprinted that the moment he could walk! So he upped the ante, winding through alleyways he'd come to know over the past few weeks, like a serpent. 200 Very tired men followed him. It was a hot day, and they were all running armour. But Darl would not let up; though he did start heading back towards the Palace. It was a harsh life being a Warrior, but one must get used to it. They continued to wind through the ruined streets of Fanelia; the Zaibach took in every detail at a glance. A broken house, crushed by a Guymelef, with the tell-tale signs of Zaibach claws. A house burnt from the outside in; incinerated hands could be seen grasping at the window sill, the individual's last thought being of survival. It was a rancid reminder of what Darl's job had forever entailed. But he'd come to terms with that a long time ago...One of the first Wars was a brutal move of revenge against a small country called Delen. The Delennese had harrassed the southern Zaibach farmers for generations...Then Dornkirk came. Pilot Fomfostradt had personally raised the Zaibach flag over the ruins of Delen City.

It's people were scattered to the four corners, it's army disbanded. Even now, the Delennese were too broken and disjointed to ever regain their home.

But the memories of the War had hardened Darl's heart. Incinerating countless men alive. Hearing the wrenching screams of his friends. Crushing a hospital beneath ironclad boot. Seeing the remnants of the Zaibach farms Delen had ravaged. It balanced out to make you immune.

It was cruel and inhuman. But it happened. And Darl had been proclaimed a Hero. Promoted from a lowly soldier, barely a name amongst masses, to the Officer Class.

For killing.

Darl did not feel a thing as he jogged through the streets of Fanelia. His soldiers keep their eyes averted, some muttering in anger, others clearly biting back on the temptation to kill their Captain. But Darl had seen it all before, and he would see it again.

It was deep in the heart of the ruins that a Wolf boy blocked Darl's path. He was simple and heavily-built, with the harsh set of a street urchin. He couldn't have been older then Merle. Every move was made with the frightened, nervous movement of an outcast, or a fugitive

With a wave of his hand, the Captain halted the soldiers. The lad met Darl's cold, cold eyes.

"Go home, boy." His voice was not mocking or degrading, simply caustic and succinct. He was a man with no time for such games.

"Zaibach..." He hissed, pulling a small dagger from his rags, but not moving. In response, Darl's eyes narrowed, but his voice remained the same.

"You won't kill me, Pup. But you could, one day, with the right training. Wanna keep to this life of scavenging, no family, no pack, run off. Wanna make something of yourself?..." An armoured thumb jabbed behind him, at the column of huffing-puffing, redhot and obliterated Samurai.

"Fall in."

The lad, Lyrk, turned out to be twice as fit as the Fanelian Samurai. Where they had begun to pant after 15 minutes of this 2 hour run, Lyrk ran ahead, obviously trying to impress the Samurai and awe the Captain. It failed, of course, but it displayed his endurance. Every step was made with concise speed and lightning precision; it quickly became obvious to Darl that Lyrk had survived by feasting on the corpses of dead Fanelians. The Captain worked it out by _that _look he gave the Houses; a Hunter, looking for his next meal. But the Samurai missed it, more concerned with not collapsing then the Wolf boy. Personally, Darl admired it. It meant the boy was a survivor, a fighter and ruthless. Good. Would need to be.

It was past midday when the Fanelian Army came trundling up to the Palace Courtyard. All around, carefully organised pales of fresh water were ready, with cups surrounding them. The King had gone to see Hitomi off. Sure enough, a purest beam of shining light echoed off in the distance. It would be many months before she returned, but Darl knew the King would wait for her until the end of time if need be. It bemused him greatly; their love tempered each other, and was clearly built upon deep confrontation. Van had told him of this swordmaster, Allen Schezar. Darl Fomfostradt refused to tell his new lord of their history.

As the Samurai gleefully fell down, throwing their armour off and enjoying copious amounts of water, their leader simply took a small mug of water and proceeded to nurse it; he then took to talking with the Wolf boy. With a harsh grip, he dragged him away from a water pale, which he clearly did not require, and sat him down on the steps of the Palace.

"Your name."

"Lyrk Longfang." He replied, half snarling the words. It was obvious he had a fierce dislike for Darl; he didn't give a dragon's runny shit. This pup was the fittest runner for miles.

"Longfang. Outcast, then. My name is Darl, Captain of the Fanelian Guar-."

"Don't you Zaibach dogs have second names aswell."

"Only Officers. Even then, only distinguished ones." Such a glare has never before been visited upon a child; in a single look, it informed him to bite his tongue, to leave the subject and to show some fucking respect. Colonel Fomfostradt had levelled many a rebellious Guymelef Pilot with it.

"You're going to be my runner. I will give you food, shelter and a friend. I will also teach you in the Ancient Art of The Wolf's Claw." It was a straight statement; he knew that the Pup would not refuse – his curiosity wouldn't let him, as his next question proved.

"What's that? Some kind of Zaibach dance?" It was a Wolf grin, which maintained itself even when Darl flicked his ear.

"It's a form of fighting taught to Humans by your ancestors. Your hands become the greatest weapons. It relies on ferocity, cunning and ruthlessness, three things you possess in abundance. Now, I want you to go find a cat girl called Merle. She'll be your friend and, probably, your mate – in due time." Such words would not echo from any other man's mouth. He was not going to bullshit this Pup. He never had a habit for that. Lyrk's shock, embarrasment and sheer childish awe were clear on his face, replacing the previous rebellion and hate. Good.

With a pointing finger towards the bustling section of town being rebuilt, Lyrk was scampering.

The Captain nodded thoughtfully as he pushed himself to his feet. It was good to have changed a life for the better. Better to be changing a life for the good; which he could never remember doing, then for the worse; which he tried to forget.

"You've been running them since midday?"

Ah. That ever present plot device of a character sneaking up behind you. Darl was getting very tired of it, and prayed the author would stop it.

"And I will do so every day until they resemble something other then sloths." His voice was barbed and his words likewise, loud enough for the closest Samurai to hear. Deliberately so, for they needed someone to hate.

Van smiled thoughtfully, before nodding. With practiced care, his hands came up.

"Teach me."

Darl did not stir, simply removing his gauntlets and throwing them to the side, allowing him to flex his sweaty hands.

"You will begin lessons with Lyrk Longfang, your majesty. Until then." His hand shot out and caught Van Fanel just under his ribcage, the speed of the action dazzling anyone who had never seen a master warrior fight. "...improve your reactions. Sire."

**Hey. First named Chapter - The Wolf and The Dragon. Hope you guys are enjoying this as much as me; this should be one helluva ride ;)**


	4. The Soldier's Laugh

Lyrk moved fast, his hand striking Van square in the chest. The hand was held palm-up, with his index and middle the only fingers extended. A beautiful strike, it hit his opponent just under the sternum, stunning him. With windswept beauty, a foot twitched forward, hooking itself lightly around Van's left foot. But he had learnt. Recovering from the blow with great difficulty but good speed, the foot shot up and back down with daring speed, digging it's bare heel into the hook foot. A hit, knuckles folded so the edge of the palm connected with Lyrk's face, followed. In response, the Wolf boy gripped his King's wrist as it drew back, and forced him towards him with a powerful tug. A single well-placed headbutt, and Van was unconscious, and Lyrk wasn't.

The Courtyard, the once-scorched stones long ago whitewashed and scrubbed to their former glory, echoed with the chuckles of Guardsmen and the giggles of servants.

Darl's gaze was unscrupulous and critical as he watched from the steps by himself; most servants kept their distance, but there was an aura of respect that had developed the moment he defeated the King and only grown stronger over the last 5 years. Lyrk's timing had been off, his attacks too slow south of his waist. But his hands were incomparably fast; grabbing Van's wrist as it retracted was cunning and highly difficult. And he had mastered the keystone of the Wolf's Claw: everything goes. A simple, brutal move had ended the bout, and it was Van's fault. He had been on the backfoot from the first move, his stance being far too wide to defend himself and his reactions too slow to compensate. But his feet were fast, he fought to the end and he was deathly quick to recognise an opponent's weaknesses.

With a grunt, Darl nodded down at the King, and a bucket-bearing guardsman proceeded to wake him up with some ice-cold water.

Spluttering and spitting, with a highly recognisable look of 'not again', Van awoke.

Taking Lyrk's offered hand, the two combatants supported each other across the courtyard to where Darl stood.

With a bow, they honoured him, and begged his opinion.

Once again, that coarse voice rang out, the echoes of Balgus being replaced by the harsher tones of a Soldier born, not a Swordsman born.

"Lyrk, your feet are slow. Practice your kicks and hooks. Until then, you will carry 1 of every 10 messages with your feet." Darl did not dally with exaggerated metaphors or inspiring compliments. Lyrk knew his strengths, but his weaknesses needed pointing out. The only semblance of praise Darl allowed the Wolf-boy, now coming into adulthood, was the slightest nod of the head. Then, his face changed, becoming only slightly different in physical appearance; the smallest of grimaces. But Van knew what that meant.

"Van, your stance was too wide; stop spreading your arms. From now on, you will exercise and train with your hands tied infront of you."

With that, their session ended. Van and Lyrk bowed to their Master, and then the hierarchy changed.

Standing to attention, Darl bowed stiffly to Van, whle grunting at Lyrk to be gone. Lyrk allowed himself a grin at Van, nodding at him in respect as a dojo-partner, before disappearing down the steps. They had developed a liking for each other; Lyrk's style complimenting Van's pride and honour.

Van, for his part, simply smoothed his hair and smiled appreciatively at Darl.

"How are you today, Captain?"

He looked good; and that was rare. His hair and beard remained the exact same length; closely washed and trimmed to represent absolute disciplinary perfection. His armour was simple and functional, the only adornment being the scratches across the breastplate, gained from fighting wandering bands of brigands in the Forest. A back as straight as a spear, Van realised why he regretted recruiting Darl every time he looked at him. He was Zaibach to the bone; ordered, regimented, stoic and hard-faced until the very end.

But looking around him, just for a second, Van realised why he had recruited him. The Palace Courtyard, once dark, rancid and covered in debris, now sparkled white with constant scrubbing and cleaning. The Palace steps, which lead directly out onto it, had been repaired and refined, everything being made functional before anything was redecorated. The two barracks either side were stocked with warm beds and good food, specifically from the now booming farms outside the walls. At first, they'd had to accept charity from the Wolf-men, but Darl had gone down into the town, gathered 50 men, and the next autumn; 40 cartloads of grain had arrived in the City. The only smile Darl had ever displayed infront of Van, or ever, to his knowledge, was when he had stood upon the raised edge of the Palace Courtyard, looking out as the citizens of Fanelia eagerly ground the grain in improvised mills; the original ones outside long burnt to the ground.

And the Guards. The Guards. They were not Samurai in the classic sense anymore; gone were the erratic and brilliant swordsmen of Fanelia. Instead, they had 'grown brains', as Darl eloquently put it. Van would descend to order a blacksmith to forge a sword for a new Guard, and find it had been ordered that morning by something known as a 'Quartermaster'; a master of supplies. It seemed this man was a master of the nameless minutiae of Military life.

"Good as can be expected, Sire." Darl replied a second time; Van's daydreaming getting the better of him.

"Alright, come on." With a step, the routine continued. 5 Guards peeled off and followed Darl and the King as they descended into the Fanelian streets. The parts closest the Palace were ordered and well-built; Darl had ordered the main roads rebuilt first, but the Lady Hitomi had ordered the residence rebuilt ahead of them. Darl had bowed his head to his future-Queen's decision.

It wasn't long now, and Van hesitated to ask his Captain for advice. He knew Darl had possessed a Wife and children, but he just wasn't that approachable. Not like Balgus. But Van had to ask someone, and Allen wouldn't be here before the Wedding.

As they treaded through the streets, the people stopping to quickly bow as messengers ran, herdsman herded for the market, crafters crafted for their shops and a small semblance of Fanelia's past beamed forth, Van asked him.

"Darl…You were married with how many children?" It was asked hesitantly, unusual for the King. As usual, Darl's response was clear cut and brutal.

"5."

"And why did you marry?"

"Because my Wife…" It was rare for him to hesitate at any answer, but he continued after only a moment "…was very, very rich, and the Daughter of a noble. She hated me to her last breath."

Van saw why he'd held the answer back. That was callous; he'd been informed of the possibility of an arranged marriage as a boy, but marrying for money? That didn't sit well with Van.

"But I grew to love her. Very much." Maybe a hint of humidity gathered upon the tip of an eyelash upon that stone visage, just maybe, but it was blinked away, a rare species brought to extinction.

But still, that was an opening. It seemed talking about Darl's family brought out the slightest gleam of a different man. Van dove in.

"Do you think I should marry Hitomi?" And the silence confirmed that the gleam had died. For easily an eternity that was mere minutes, they simply walked, in silence.

"Marrying the Lady Hitomi brings no political advantages. Neither financial, territorial or diplomatic.

But the people love her, her regular visits have caused them to view her already as their Queen, albeit unofficially. She makes sound administrative decision with a clear and concise mind. And you love her, deeply. So, I can only conclude that it is not the best marriage you could acquire, but that no ill effects will come of it."

"Yes, but do you think I **should?" **

"Yes."

How can such a simple word from one man change so much? The approval of this man, who Van had known barely 5 and a half years, was immensely important. Perhaps because it was often denied, rarely given. When Darl complimented the skill of your footwork, it meant it was worth a great deal, as he would not have complimented it unless it had been flawless.

"Thank you, Captain."

The King maintained his smile and his incomparably happy mood throughout the visit. Striding into the market square, the King perused the wears avidly, always complimenting, never commenting. Darl watched silently, never offering his opinion, simply raising his eyebrows at a ghastly specimen and nodding at an item of good quality. Though any trader would give his wears away for free to the Lord Van, the King paid triple price – always. With mental precision, Darl would note the price away from the budget he had assigned for the outing. Noone commented on the massive bruise topping the King between the eyes; they'd seen it many times, and it only incurred a few chuckles from the townsfolk.

Lyrk came into sight, being pushed precariously by Merle towards a shop stall. They had both grown a great deal. Lyrk had developed a savage handsomeness and a deathly quick intellect; his nose had broadened, his hair lengthened and his teeth sharpened, to match Merle's bestial beauty. She was Van's unofficial overseer of everything to do with thieving, information and such. She made sure the street rat orphans that noone could take in were fed, and did not steal too much. Learning from her quickly, Lyrk had become the settler of disputes, always with Merle at his side. At this period in their lives, Merle despised him, and Lyrk had not grown out of his more childish habits; painfully clear as he handed a shopkeeper a shining apple with a sheepish grin.

But Lyrk caught his foster-father's eye, and spoke something to Merle. She stormed, her teenage hormones ripping into Lyrk once again, before pouncing off.

Tapping the King on the shoulder to inform him, Darl detached himself from the party and went to speak with the Wolf-boy.

"Sorry, Darl."

The hit was light, indicating that the Captain did not really mind, little more then a man might give a child to stop the infant's hand leaping into a fire. Only once had Darl ever delivered a true thrashing to Lyrk; when he had gone back to his cannibalistic ways. After finally hunting him down, Darl had gripped him by the shoulder and said "You are a Wolf, not a damned rat. Act like it" before beating nine-shades of blue into him. It was strange, but Lyrk was a Wolf-man. They ran away when they felt scared, felt scared when they felt unprotected – best way to show a Wolf you can protect them is prove it to them, aswell as showing you care enough to beat him. Ever since then, Lyrk and Merle had his morning, noon and evening meals with Darl. He was not good conversation, he knew, but Merle and Lyrk were. Lyrk was often sarcastic, and was beginning to inherit his teacher's succinct descriptions. Merle was thunderous and street-wise in a way that Lyrk could never be. They remained friends, for now, but at 17 years of age, it was only a matter of time before they either left or found each other. Everything hinted to the former, Merle was constantly crying over Lyrk, and Lyrk would go through his morning training with a sombre expression.

Gaia herself, but Darl was no father. He knew very, very little of children, every single cjild of his only ever seeing his face once or twice in their entire lives..

Lyrk took his cuff with an apologetic smile, and Darl couldn't bring himself to punish him further.

"Noon meal in two candlemarks. Bread, cheese and salted venison." He relished that spark in Lyrk's eye at the mention of meat; especially meat he had killed personally. Darl had quickly discovered that though Lyrk was an Outcast, he was still a Wolf to the bone. Noone, absolutely noone, could track better then him.

"We'll go hunting tomorrow." Darl stated, keen to get some boar meat for the Palace stores.

"I'd like that. But, please, try to keep up, for once." Lyrk dashed off, knowing that the Captain would simply level a stoic look on him. Nonetheless, he giggled. His opinion towards Darl had changed in the five years he'd fostered him. At first, he hated him, fighting him in subtle ways at every turn; leaving his armour out in the rain to rust, locking his door and hiding the key, and a hundred other childish pranks. But Darl had always overcome them. He would turn up for parade a candlemark early, his armour shining brighter then ever; he would produce the key from his pocket, strangely acquiring it from it's hiding place without Lyrk noticing. After 2 years, Lyrk had stopped telling himself he was only here to learn how to kill; and began realising he was here because it was a better life. The last 3 years had been building the relationship between the two; and it was strong. And would only grow stronger. For everytime that Lyrk defied Darl in an adolescent tantrum, he found himself cleaning the courtyard with a leaf, or his training being to run to the furthest farm and back again until evening meal. It was one of those times when Lyrk had run away; Darl had found him, and showed him that he wasn't going to let him regress into a scavenger again.

The outing ended. Van politely and happily dismissed Darl, and he was on his way. Alone, Darl garnered glares and scowls, but always to his back, and only from the most grudge-bearing of young fools. To his front, everyone bowed their hand with respect. Instead of the adoration and love which Van enjoyed, the Captain took silent respect and almost apologetic reverence. Many people had complained at the Captain's appointment, only to have him personally come round and challenge them. Regardless of their response, they would find their house rebuilt by Guards on punishment duty.

Darl's residence was once so torn apart, noone had wanted to even attempt to rebuild it. A Guymelef had fallen atop it during the Zaibach attack. It took a great amount of time, but Darl had dismantled the Guymelef piece by piece, plate by plate, and rebuilt the home. It was now simple but functional. It was in a sidestreet with only a few inhabitants, maybe 5 or 6, but it was close to the Palace and quiet.

With a heave, Darl shouldered the door open. The entrance hall was a simple, wooden floor and a shoe rack, with an open doorway covered with a blanket directly infront.

Not bothering to kick off his boots, Darl predictably found Lyrk at the table, ready to eat. The kitchen was little more then a stove, several bags of food and a large table. But it was easily large, with plenty of extra space for stretching and moving.

Strangely, Lyrk was sitting alone, head in hands. He'd obviously heard Darl enter, so, as the man reached into the large food sacks for the pre-cooked foot and a few plates, he prompted him with a "Hm?"

Lyrk simply shook his head in his hands, it quickly becoming obvious he was crying.

Darl had no idea how to deal with a young boy crying. Merle had cried many times, and Van had offered her a warm set of arms. Even Darl had patted her on the back and given her something to do.

But a boy? That almost scared him.

Slapping the boy's cut of venision down infront of him, and quickly producing a hefty chunk of bread and cheese for him, Darl cautiously dipped his toe.

"Why are you crying?"

"I …" It would come, in time, Darl thought.

"I tried…to…kiss Merle."

Darl's eyes widened for a full 5 seconds, perfect orbs of shining surprise. Lyrk looked up, and the surprise was already gone, the emotionless expression returning.

"You're the one who told me she'd be…be…my.."

Darl answered quickly and with a tinge of ferocity to his tone; not a thousandth of the tirades he'd once used, but still making Lyrk cringe.

"It is her choice." Few ideas haunted Darl more then Lyrk forcing himself upon Merle. For the Captain knew he would kill Lyrk without a second thought; there was something in him. The man who had incinerated children alive, without so much as a grimace, nor a cackle of maniacal enjoyment.

It was emotionless, and it was the pure manifestation of Darl's anger.

But from the look of him, Lyrk hadn't finished.

"She kissed me back..then…ran away."

For the first time in 12 years, Darl Fomfostradt laughed. Not simply a chuckle at a fall or a comical happening, but a belly-laugh of relief, amusement and definite joy. It lasted for a fair few seconds, Lyrk's injured expression turning to angry bemusement.

"What?"

Darl's laughter died, and his normal, stoic expression returned, but the levity in his eyes felt it would never die.

He simply shook his head and nodded at the food.

"Nothing's wrong. Eat your food."

As Darl went to sleep that night, having primed the 5th Guymelef of a rebuilt Fanelia, he let himself chuckle.

_**Thanks to mysisterisasquijum for her nice words and reviews.**_


	5. The Word and The Lovers

Darl's fist came up, and the man was dead, a knife in his throat, coating the Captain in his life fluid. Before the first victim had even hit the ground, the Zaibach was turning, one foot reaching behind him to stun a foe, even as Darl's blade spiked into another's chest.

These Brigands were everywhere; had been everywhere for months, years. Darl had finally grown tired of it, and, in the days leading up to the Royal Wedding, was culling them.

The Samurai were working badly, their swords unwieldy in the thick confines of the ravine. Lyrk was holding his own admirably, tearing throats out with fang and claw. Good. Darl had taught him well. He removed his gaze from his foster-son and gripped a foe's skull, puncturing his eyes with two powerful movement of his thumbs. As he reeled, the sword dug into his spine, and unsheathed itself from his body. Suddenly. A massive man pushed through the scrum with his shoulders and gripped him with deathly strong arms in a bear hug. In response, Darl's head shot forward, teeth crunching around his nose. Cartillage crunched, warm blood pumped, and Darl's head reeled back. The giant collapsed, holding his ruined face in agony. Calmly retrieving his sword from the mud, Darl did not bother to kill him. The Samurai had succeeded. The Brigands had been ambushed and annihilated. Butchered.

For once, the Captain cried out over the ravine.

"Prisoners! Get me a captive!"

It was rare; normally Darl did not allow any to live. But he wasn't just beating these off, he was hunting them.

With efficiency more akin to a Zaibach Unit, the Samurai moved amongst the 60 or so bandits. Lyrk called out, and Darl crossed the distance to him quickly.

It was the giant, still clutching his shredded remnants of nose. Hi face was pale, his hands shivering, his skin pallid and cold. He was not long for this world. But Darl needed information

"Tell me where you are from, and I will heal you." Lyrk glanced at Darl, a confused expression on his face, but Darl did not respond, simply staring at the dying man. The Wolf could smell the death-rattle rising in his throat.

"…Sh..Shh…Shaibak.."

And with that, the bandit died.

"Fuck." Darl breathed.

"I don't trust him."

"I'm not surprised, Allen, but he's more then earnt my trust."

"Van, he killed my comrades in the war. Hundreds of them. 3 of the Knights Caeli; murdered in the last battle. He's a born killer, Van…"

Van glared, his hand tightening around his cup. The table was well set out, Celena and Hitomi in dresses they'd both taken time to get used to.

"As I recall, Knight-Commander Schezar, there are a great many killers at this table." His voice was sharp, strong, much like it had been during the war. Celena's head dropped, tears beading on her eyes.

"We all change, Allen. The Captain, he's…not like anyone I've ever met." Hitomi said, attempting to cool the situation. "He's not unkind, but he's not kind ever. He doesn't do anything based on emotion, just logic and reason."

"Like Dornkirk."

Van glared ferociously at his friend. Then, his maturity won through, and he sighed.

"Allen, there's no point in arguing about this. He's my Captain, and has been for 5 and a half years. He's done more for this Country then anyone, and he has a good heart. He took on a Wolf Outcast, in Gaia's name. But let's not fight. How was your stay in Freid?"

Allen smiled, realising the need to put aside such debatable topics. It was the day before the Wedding, and it was a day for joyous occasions.

"It was good. Duke Chid is growing up strong, and he's getting to be more and more like his father."

Whenever they referred to Chid's father, it always meant the Duke Freid. For, in reality, he had been. In every way that mattered.

"I knew he was gonna be alright." Hitomi stated, happily, grasping Van's head with warmth.

"Yes, Queen Millerna is very happy with how's he's coming along."

Such pleasant conversation was very well and good, had the Dining Hall's pleasant serenity not been interrupted by a door crashing open.

Darl Fomfostradt was pristine. Simple grey tunic and trousers, with rugged brown marching boots. His hair was matted with flecks of dirt and tiny specks of blood, and his teeth retained a reddish tint. But he was in a far better condition then he normally looked after a patrol.

"Sir. Sorry to interrupt. Dinner is served."

With a sly grin, Hitomi thought of something, remembering the first time she and Darl had met….

"Madam." Darl bowed _stiffly to Hitomi, his face stoic and craggy. They were in the room Hitomi had first had when she came here. Instead, it was Darl's, for now. Hitomi shared Van's room. _

_He was a very different kind of man. He resembled a rockface, clear, and wrinkled, but hard and chiselled._

"_Who are you?"_

"_Darl Fom-"_

"No, no. I mean _**who **__are you? Where are you from, who were your parents,when were you born, how did you get here?" Hitomi's gaze shot at him, and she wished with all her heart he would tell her._

_With a deep sigh, the man relented, nodding._

"If you must, I will tell you to gain your trust. I was born 43 years ago in the slums of Zaibach. My mother was Tran Fomfoson, a weaver, and my father died before I was born. My life was harsh, and I was often assaulted and beaten, and I had to steal to survive when my mother fell of Cholera. When I was 15, Dornkirk came." He stopped, abruptly, smiling a mischievous curve of the lips.

"_My lady, this will wait for another day. Come back one day, and I will continue the tale."_

And so, Hitomi and Darl had become friends. She pitied him, and enjoyed his succinct judgements and proud attitude. She reminded him of his Daughter.

"Captain, would you like to join us?"

It's an unspoken rule amongst soldiery; you never refuse a polite request from a future Queen. In his head, Darl swore several times, but his stone gaze remained brutally stoic. He was afraid. Of both Dilan- CELENA, and Allen. Dilandau had been a fierce hate of Fomfostradt, but this girl was vastly different. Still, the ghost of that maniac remained. Allen was coarse, fiercely honourable and chivalrous. The last a trait Darl fiercely disagreed with.

"If you wish, madam."

Darl ran a finger along his stubble-adorned chin as he sat down, Hitomi and Van sitting at the head of the table, Allen and Celena sitting opposite Darl.

With a flourish, the Samurai, as was custom, brought forth the foods. It was only a few dishes, a single boar, a pheasant or two, and other assorted luxuries. These were easily spared, as Lyrk had hunted them.

Darl felt the need to say it, but Van beat him to it.

"My thanks to the provider of this meal." He bowed his head lightly, catching Darl's eye with a wink.

Almost instantly, the Captain set to eating. He'd long ago chosen to ensue the etiquette of popular society, so he ate sedately, but with his fingers.

"So, Darl, what unit were you with?"

Of all the questions Celena could have asked, that was perhaps the worst. Her eyes were honest enough, and it did seem to be a genuine question. The other 3 held their breath.

"Adelphus' Command Staff, Madam." The pressure dropped, and Allen threw a stern glance at his sister.

But she was not finished.

"Yes…I think..I think I recognise you. You were Colonel Fomfostradt…" She covered her mouth, but it was quite obvious she was smiling.

"Everyone said you were the next High General, but I always…"

"Madam, you have forced me to bring this up. You are no longer Dilandau. I am no longer a Colonel. Technically, I am not worthy of my last name." Darl responded, before shoving a gravy-soaked piece of pork into his mouth. Celena sat back against her chair, face downcast.

"I would remind you, _Zaibach, _that my sister did not do what she did out of choice." Allen snapped, his honour clearly offended.

"Caeli, I had no part in the destruction of this Country. But I have been threatened and attacked by these valiant people many times. How do you think they'll respond to the one who burnt their homes to cinders?"

"ENOUGH! Captain, you will hold your tongue, as it seems you are for once ready to wield it. And Allen…" Hitomi came in to finish her husbands words.

"Darl is a friend. And he just wants to help. Stop fighting."

The Captain nodded, Allen responding in kind, but it was obvious that the bad blood had not dissipated.

"Henren Tyrin, Larnon Vrada and Outris Gelert."

The response from Darl to Allen's goad was simple.

"They fought and died with honour."

From that moment on, the Knight began to lessen his hatred of the Captain. He had remembered the names of those Knights he had killed, which implied regret.

If only the Knight knew that there wasn't a single thing Darl regretted. Except one, of course. But he long ago realised there was little he could do to change that. Deaths lie in the past as fallen flower petals.

The meal was delicious, better then anything Darl had placated himself with in a long time. But it was too expensive; it did not share the raw strength of something you'd worked day and night for. Such was why Darl The Captain refused charity.

Willingly being left out of their conversations, Darl listened as the Royals and their guests talked of many things; mostly trivial. But, as the main course was taken away, the emphasis fell to the Wedding.

"So. In Fanelia, the Brigadier Generals of the Samurai pronounces the ceremony. I would enjoy it if you took that position, Captain." Van's offer was as simplistic as much as it bit at Darl's craw. He was not a public figure. Merely a silent reminder that Fanelia was rebuilding it's strength. But to pronounce the ceremony was an honour; albeit a reluctant one.

"If you wish, my lord." Was the Warrior's grudging response.

Without further ado, the major decisions that meant so much emotionally but very little mechanically, were made. Who would present Hitomi to Van? Allen. Who would act as witnesses? Celena, and most of Fanelia. Who would bear the Rings?

"Perhaps Duke Chid could be called over?" Hitomi suggested.

"He has his own country to run, my Queen." Allen smiled, politely.

"Anyway, I want my training partner to carry the rings." Van's strong tone carried around the table.

"The Wolf Boy?" Allen queried.

"No." Darl simply threw it out there; it was his way if saying 'He may be detained, my Lord. He's been preoccupied with hunting down the bandits'.

"Yes. He'll love it, and I can think of noone better to do it. Lyrk has always loved a show."

Darl groaned, silently.

Lyrk was not known for being particularly hasty. But he had been tired. Stumbling in through the door, Merle had marvelled at the many cuts and bruises across Darl and Lyrk's skin. Darl was by far the worse off, but he seemed utterly fine with the wounds. Lyrk, however, was tired and bruised; the combination of several fierce melees wearing him down.

"What the hell happened to you guys?!" She had screamed. Darl had glared, and that had quietened her.

"Get the tub. Heat the water, bathe him. Feed him." Darl had been supporting his foster-son, and now slapped him onto their table.

Stretching his back with that steel, emotionless expression, he disappeared into his own room.

While the water was still heating, and Merle was cradling Lyrk's tired, unconscious face in her arms, he emerged without so much as washing, but new clothes and the worst of the dirt scrubbed off. Going for the door, no goodbyes necessary, he stopped, staring at Merle.

"Bathe him. Feed him. Nothing more." It was his usual, emotionless tone. And that meant he would return angry if she didn't.

But she'd done as he'd asked. She'd kept the fire going, as Lyrk sat in the metal tub, naked, hot water sitting stagnantly over him. Hair; matted with sweat, dirt and blood. His muscles along his chest and stomach glistened as he breathed softly in and out. Why did Darl put him through this? She'd softly cleaned the blood from his face, but already the bruises across his body were swelling, and the dozens of tiny cuts had begun to scab over.

Without warning, he snorted, softly, and began to cough over the side of the tub. It wasn't blood, but he seemed tired. Coming back to consciousness, he looked up through hazy eyes.

"Merle?" He wheezed, painfully. Looking down at him, she felt something rise up in herself. Something...feral. Just looking down at those thick bands of muscle, that hardened flesh...He was as much a Wolf as he was a man, and she felt...

Lust. That was the word. She looked deep into his eyes, and saw that his haziness had gone. Just staring. Staring into her eyes, through her clothes, staring at her. Gently, she leaned down. Gently, he leaned up, and kissed her. At first, it was soft. For a few minutes, they simply kissed each other. Enjoying it. But then, that wasn't enough. She started to bite his lips, started to caress his chest with her hand. Taking his hand in her's, she guided him down her own body, until...

With a desire that matched only her care, she pulled off her dress, letting it fall to the floor, before climbing in with him; biting his neck seductively as he entered her...


End file.
